


Twist the knife

by Pastel_Rabbit



Category: Spy vs Spy
Genre: Also contains a few hcs I have about these two hidden around, Also the dead character comes back, And I don't know if the violence really counts as graphic but just in case, Cartoon verse (not humanization), Death means nothing to them so why not, M/M, Mostly from Black's perspective because I love him, Mostly soft gay content because SELF CARE BAYBEY, These two are just bumbling little dumbasses who think murder is funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Rabbit/pseuds/Pastel_Rabbit
Summary: Black Spy, a name well known in their little black and white world, is once again tasked with getting information from his rival by any means necessary.
Relationships: Black Spy/White Spy (Spy vs Spy)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	1. Unsuspicious activity at 1:30 AM

Through the back alley. Over a fence, tip-toeing past the neighbor's easily awoken white dog, and into his garden. Slinging the heavy weight in his arms over one shoulder to fish a metal ring of keys out from the depths of his black jacket. Fumbling with the tricky lock on his back door- he couldn’t use the front, too much risk of being seen- in the low light of….

Of.

…

Hm.

Black checked the watch around his wrist, which had only come into existence when he, with difficulty, pulled back his sleeve.

1:27, nearly on the dot.

A shake of his free arm loosened the fabric bunched around his elbow, and it slipped back over his wrist with a satisfactory nod from the spy. The watch was no longer there.

This was  _ definitely  _ not the way the Black Spy had expected to start his morning.

Then again, Black had stopped expecting things a long time ago. Good things, anyway. In his own line of work, one of many unspoken rules was to prepare for the worst, plan accordingly, and never expect to come out unharmed. And unharmed he was  _ not _ . The earlier fight, which he  _ did  _ win, had still gifted the spy with his own torrent of injuries to see to, once he’d taken care of the bigger issue on his hands of course.

Speaking of..

After finally breaking through his own difficult locks, unsure as to whether the whispered swearing helped him or not, Black finally dropped that weighty form slung over his side with a wince. It flopped to the ground, and for a moment, Black worried he’d been rough enough to wake up his guest.

Thankfully, no such luck, as the body on his kitchen tile did nothing but lie there, the rhythmic up-and-down motion of a jacket-covered front being Black’s only indication of life still present.

Good, was the spy’s final thought. Not conscious, not dead, and Black could get on with his first big assignment of the month.

White Spy, Black’s rival of a number of years neither could remember at this point, was eventually pulled back into the latter’s arms. Head leaning against the left shoulder. One arm flopped over his front, the other dangling down over Black’s own, scrawny arms that no one would ever expect were capable of holding up a whole living creature. Ever so slowly being carried through the unfamiliar home.

Reacting to nothing, besides a sharp wince when Black accidentally hit the unconscious man’s head on a door frame thanks to turning too quick.

There was his excitement getting the better of him again.

Black always did have a habit of  _ rushing  _ tasks these days, whether it was thanks to his decreased paycheck fueling him with the need to appease the Black Leader, or just the pride he took from his job, he wasn’t sure. But he’d chosen to ignore the question altogether, in favour of tying his guest up. In a less than comfortable metal chair, tucked away in one of his more hidden, underground rooms, hidden underneath a trapdoor that fitted nicely in the corner of his own kitchen floor. White hat, jacket, and weapons all removed and set out neatly on a nearby wheeled table.

Leaving White defenseless, unarmed, and slumped in his seat. A look that Black could never fully decide if he loved or hated seeing.

Today, he settled on a neutral opinion, and headed upstairs to tend to his own injuries

Black always liked this part of the more… Violent tasks he was commonly assigned to. The calm before the storm, as he sometimes put it. A winding down period where he could tie up loose ends, secure alibis, tend to his own injuries and, if he had the time for it, simply gaze over his old rival.

And once raw skin and bruises had been properly dressed in the comfort of his own living room, by the roaring fireplace he’d fallen into just last week, that’s exactly what Black did. Walking back down to the dimmed room with nothing but a glass of his chosen liquor (whatever was going for cheap at the corner store), and a newly sharpened steak knife, both of which were set out on the table beside White’s accessories.

He took a seat for himself, in a small wooden chair with a cushion that was far comfier than White’s.


	2. Good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black has some time to think, and White wakes up

Black checked his watch again. Pulling the sleeve up on his opposite wrist this time around, due to forgetting where it had been before or the odd love he had for abusing the cartoonish physics that made their little universe so special, it was unclear.

The time was 1:49, White was still unconscious.

Their earlier fight had been a fun one. Both monochrome spies crossing paths in the late hours of the night, immediately locking eyes as if some outside force had driven them to meet in this very location, and both were just as surprised that the other was there.

White had arrived out of coincidence, Black on the hunt. He’d been tasked with getting some crucial information out from the man in the white hat just a few minutes ago, and there was only one way he was going to get it. 

He’d pounced first, of course. White had acted accordingly and reeled back, slamming his boot up against the other’s pointed face, sending him reeling on the frosted grass with a hand gripping the fresh injury to his chin and scribbled stars in his eyes. But he wouldn’t go down that easy, and in the next few minutes, White had suffered through being endlessly slammed into walls and pummelled by fists until his legs buckled and his head hit the sidewalk.

Jaw hanging open, tired eyes weakly slid shut, clothes dirtied by the unclean streets and a few specks of black, oily liquid that served as their own blood.

Most of it was White’s. 

_ Most  _ of it.

And now here he sat, slumped forwards in the metal chair, that soft little tuft of white fur atop his head hung over closed, dark ringed eyes. Arms fastened to the armrests with tight, uncomfortable metal cuffs that prevented struggle. Mouth still hung open. 

A thin trickle of black blood ran down the man’s tired face. Black winced despite himself, and leaned out of his chair to wipe the stream away with a thumb. His hands were still cold with the crisp chill of the late winter air, but they seemed to warm up with that gentle contact to his rival.

White flinched away from the sudden chill and began to stir, and Black hurriedly moved away. 

But instead of stopping to question his more…  _ Soft  _ movements with the other like Black would have done years ago, he simply turned, and wiped the blood on his own, similarly coloured clothes that he’d wash later.

Better to make a start on it now, in fact. The jacket was removed and subsequently folded up along with White’s own. And in nothing but a white dress shirt, black hat, and black pants, the spy watched as his sworn enemy finally came to.

He took the steak knife in his hand just as those heavy black eyes fell open.

“Good morning.”


	3. In pleasant conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black and White joke about the time, Black offers possibly poisoned and very cheap liquor

White groaned as he adjusted to the new scenery. Moving to rub the dull ache from his head before he realised he’d already been restrained, and instead flopped tiredly in the chair. Half-lidded eyes glared over at the host of this impromptu visit, and White found his voice enough to manage a quiet, “it’s night...”

Black shook his head. “It’s morning, almost 2 AM. Good morning.” His tone was sweet and mischievous, and White had to laugh despite himself. 

“Good morning then… What’s in the glass?”

“Alcohol.”

“What  _ kind _ ...” White knew his counterpart was being difficult for the sake of being difficult, but the still-groggy feeling floating around in his head forced him to go along with the joke. “I never see you with anything but cider, y’know?”

Black’s grin rose, maniacally at first, before softening into the look of someone in pleasant conversation with a friend.

He swilled the contents of his glass in one hand, the other still gripped around his knife. “Liquor, whatever I found that was cheap. Want some?”

White resigned, and nodded. “Haven’t had a drink all day.”

“Now look who’s making jokes!”

The two smiled at each other. Black pulled himself out of his chair, walking with the knife and the glass, right over to the other. Weapon tucked safely away in his belt, he offered the glass, and White flinched away for a moment. Eyeing both the liquid and Black with an air of uncertainty.

Black rolled his eyes and tasted the drink himself. White slowly grew satisfied with his new proof that it wasn’t tampered with, and moved his head back to it’s neutral position.

It was awkward and maybe even embarrassing for the pair of them, but White tilted his head back as far as the metal backrest and his own neck would allow, and Black brought the glass to his lips, pouring in some of the contents. He straightened up, waiting for White to drink, then immediately spat what was still in his own mouth out onto the ground beside him.

And White’s face fell, thinking for a moment he’d let his guard down and sealed his fate by cheap, bitter, and poisoned liquor. 

Black kept his composure for all of two seconds before letting out a giggle, at which point the other spy could have drilled holes through his skull with his own glare. “You asshole!” was his chosen way of retaliation.

“Couldn’t pass up  _ that _ good of an opportunity! The drink’s fine, calm down.”

“Speak for yourself, tasted awful.”

“It wasn’t  _ that _ bad!”

“It was  _ warm. _ ”

Black could only shrug, downing the rest of the glass before walking over to put it back on the table. He took the knife in his hand once more. “That’s because my fridge broke.”

It wasn’t the real reason. He’d overstocked on groceries thanks to the enticing bright signs of a sale, and just didn’t have the room to fit most of the other bottles in. But Black decided a broken appliance was far less personal of an issue than his overzealous eating habits, and so figured that the former would be much harder for White to mock. Despite how much he loved their little back-and-forth teasing, Black had a job to do this time.

“Figures.. What do you want, anyway..?”

“Something you have.”

“A working fridge?” There was White, proving him wrong as usual. But Black had to laugh.

Black also had to walk closer, twirling the knife ever so loosely in his fingers. The blade danced between each digit, and White watched with almost trance-like focus, mainly because he was silently willing the thing to slip and cut into the other.

“Information, dumbass. C’mon, you must have gotten something big if the Embassy wanted me to do  _ this  _ again!” He gestured to that cold metal chair with the tip of the blade, though it could have been mistaken for a warning swipe at the man sitting atop it. White rolled his eyes to mask looking away. He was scared of knives, but god forbid he’d ever let Black have that little advantage over him.

The pale spy only shrugged, as much as his restraints would allow. “Maybe my Leader let me in on a few things recently, maybe not. If your plan was to  _ talk _ info out of me, you’re gonna have to re-think the word ‘Torture’.” 

White’s little joke of having to listen to Black talk being close to torture  _ anyway  _ was kept safe in his head. Even in this situation, it seemed a little  _ too  _ much.


	4. Knives and fatigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s normal..”
> 
> “It’s sleep deprivation is what it is.”

Black span the knife again. 

“Blueprints? Some operation to infiltrate our base? Assassination attempt? It’s always one of the three, your Leader isn’t that creative”

Step forward.

“He never goes against what he knows best, huh?”

Step

White shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Feeling heat rise up in his face and fear dig deep into his stomach as Black kept edging forwards with the knife.

He had to give him credit, the sudden lower tone was definitely nothing torturous to listen to, but oh god the anticipation.  _ That  _ was something else entirely. What would come next? The blade sinking into his neck? Black’s mouth on his own? Or would his throat close before he even had a chance to reveal anything, because that liquor really  _ was _ poisoned, and he was stupid enough not to second guess Black offering him a drink he hadn’t seen being prepared.

Always with the paranoia in this job, it seemed.

White’s mind raced with ‘what if’s, some more desirable than others. He hadn’t realized he’d spaced out until the blade was against his chin, and he wordlessly followed it’s movements as Black forced him to look up. Head angled quickly, yet easily, up at his rival.

White blinked. Twice.

“Did I bash your head too hard or did you just not hear me?”

“I ddin’t-” His voice came out hoarse and panicked, and White could have kicked himself for letting Black hear something so stupid. He swallowed. Hard. The sting of a dry throat mixed with the cold feeling of his chin pushing against the blade. Retry. “I didn’t. Hear you, no. Maybe I’m falling asleep from how dull you’re making this. Mind repeating?”

White readied himself for that low tone again. Vowing not to go all dark in the face and make a fool of himself because he was dating his damn rival, and said rival happened to look good brandishing a blade. He prepared for another question of what information he knew, what format, and of what importance was it to the Black Embassy.

Against all White’s expectations, Black leaned down and placed a kiss on his nose. And White flared up again.

“You should sleep better… Don’t think I didn’t notice those bags, anyone would think your eyes were rebelling over to  _ our  _ nation.”

“It’s  _ normal _ ..”

“It’s sleep deprivation is what it is.”

“Well I’d be sleeping  _ now _ if some clown hadn’t dragged me down into a basement to freeze my ass off.” Underneath the flustered expression, White found it in him to smirk up at the other. Before tilting his head slightly to the side, following the outline of the blade, and gazing around over Black’s shoulder.

Grey, unpainted walls with cinder block outlines. A ceiling that disappeared into the black void of overhead shadows. Wheeled, metal tables that would have looked more at home in a surgery, one with both Black’s and his own clothing neatly folded on top. White concrete flooring that the similarly named spy was sure would have blinded him were they under any large source of light. All they had was one single bulb on a wire, swinging in an invisible breeze above the two.

Everything a cliche spy’s torture room needed, aside from maybe a few more weapons on show, and a cuffed metal table instead of a cuffed metal chair.

“Why choose this place anyway, don’t you have offices at your headquarters for this stuff?”

They did, but Black always felt too formal dealing with White in there. He preferred a cosier setting, where he could get away with a more gentle approach to getting information out of his rival.

Plus, there were cameras everywhere. But Black instead settled on, “It’s closer to home, there’s no  _ way  _ I was hauling you up  _ there  _ at 1 AM. You weigh a tonne!”

White rolled his eyes, still heavy with fatigue, and Black silently cheered that he’d managed to dodge his question.

Then realised White had changed the subject, and suddenly didn’t feel as victorious. 


	5. The one with the 'violence'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black is surprisingly good at distractions

“Anyway, we can get this over with if you tell me what you know, I’m too tired to do the usual stuff.”

That would explain the lack of weaponry.

“Honestly, I just want you to sleep.”

“Black, I’m fine. Okay? You getting all sappy won’t make me tell you about the shi-” He caught himself before Black could force the rest of the sentence out of him, mouth clamped shut almost immediately, shoulders pulled up to his neck. Black lowered the knife

He really  _ must _ be tired if he gave away the first part of the word already.

And it was then that Black had an idea.

Then, at 2:57 AM.

A white hand rose to the contained spy’s white face, thumb rubbing gentle circles into one cheek. Black angled White’s head back up to him, the knife now held lower and lower, almost forgotten about.

Almost.

But all White could focus on was the newfound gentleness he was being handled with. Truth be told? He  _ was _ tired. Maybe not sleep deprived, the bags under his eyes had just slowly emerged with the job, but he at least  _ had _ been walking home to nap when Black jumped him.

He couldn’t help but feel happy that his night had turned out this way instead.

Their lips connected. Finally.

White could do nothing but melt in Black’s hold. Butting his head down into the tiny, warm hand that held it up oh so gently. Humming a little to himself as his mouth curled into a smile against the other’s, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Here, in the deepest levels of Black’s home, cuffed and restrained to an uncomfortable metal chair, knife pointed less than a foot away, White felt the most blissful he’d felt in such a long time. Losing himself in the other’s warmth, and physical affection he never thought he’d ever genuinely experience again after joining the Embassy.

Letting his guard down to simply enjoy the moment. 

Which turned out to be a bad move, as he had no time to react when he felt that knife cut through his chest.

The blade twisted in his lung, and White let out a yelp against Black’s mouth.

“...Shhuh- hhh…”

An uneasy blink forcing his eyes open, White pulled back.

“Sship... Ment… There’s a shipment.., okay? You win…”

A kiss and a knife. All it took.

“A shipment of-?”

“Guns.. Pistols, new… New models, supposed to fire easier or something…”

“...Well, that was easy.”

White shot Black a weak glare, but he was smiling. “You did something clever to get my guard down, you don’t do ‘clever’ too much…”


	6. The one with the death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White proposes a date. The fact that he's bleeding out apparently isn't a turn-off

The room was quieter now. A comfortable, but eerie quiet. Hazy, yet the kind your ears would fill with ringing just so you had something to listen to. Black looked down at the other, who was already struggling with the weight of his own eyelids.

As fun as their cat and mouse game was, Black never really knew if he liked seeing White like this. It was never the killing he minded, both had come to the agreement that if their job was to fight, they’d enjoy doing it, but just the reminder that this was something they had no say in made his stomach turn a little. 

White  _ was  _ real cute though...

He leaned closer, wrapping a free arm around the tiny space between White’s back and the chair. One hand still holding the blade steady. Keeping his boyfriend comfortable in the embrace, 

White sighed, and leaned his head against Black’s chest. Smiling to himself in his own drained state as he listened to that rhythmic beat in the other’s chest.

Stopping only for a moment to think how slightly quicker than normal it seemed.

“..Stressed out from just that?”

“I just.. Feel bad. I don’t know, I know this is normal.. For  _ us _ , anyway.”

Their situation was anything but normal.

Black nuzzled his own head over White’s, and the spy could have sworn he heard a purr in response. “It’s an off day, spent too long looking at you passed out in my kitchen and you made me feel bad… -Why can’t we just have a stupid flowery domestic life and… Go on dates at a coffee shop or something.”

“We could…” White pushed through a tricky intake of air, faltering in Black’s hold only for the moment. “I’m not doing anything tomorrow, we could fish out civilian wear and go to a cafe..?”

A preposition like that sounded all too enticing for Black. A chance to do something regular couples would do, not just stab each other in the ass and kiss while they’re dying for the 349th time. He considered his options.

The Black Leader wouldn’t mind not getting his spy’s new info until the afternoon, would he?

Even if that information was false, because White was completely lying about any shipments.

“We’ll call it 10:30 tomorrow?”

“Today, you mean...” White never lost that trademarked sarcasm, even as he sat bleeding out, with the knife still cutting into his lung. “And wear something nice for once, I might... buy you something while we’re there..”

Black rolled his eyes, choosing not to react to the less than kind quip about his fashion sense only because of the limited time they had left. “Fine, just for you..” Was the response he’d finally settled on.

“Then it’s a date… and i’ll kick your ass if you’re not on time...”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a bastard like you.”

A quiet chuckle from White, before he fell limp against Black’s front.

Body sliding down the knife blade to meet the handle, half lidded eyes with crossed out pupils staring blank into the floor.

Head thumping softly against the other’s chest.


	7. How to bury your boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something Black's been thinking on for a long time, and someone no one else should ever have to think

Black gave the other another gentle kiss to the forehead before he moved away, and the steak knife ever so easily slipped out of the slit it had created. Ready to be washed, disinfected, and put away in the kitchen drawer, which he decided on doing sooner rather than later as he moved the weapon back onto that earlier bundle of clothing to take upstairs.

He was happy to simply leave the body there, under the knowledge that it would soon fade to nothing once White had re-awoken back in his own bed, but the thoughts of giving his sworn enemy a proper burial after things like this had often crossed his mind.

It was pointless, as far as White being ‘remembered’ was concerned. Their world was an odd one that seemed to stare Death in the face and laugh, or more realistically, slap Death in the face and run away laughing, and the pale shaded spy would soon pop up once again without so much as a scratch on him. Any previous bodies simply dissolved into a fine mist,  _ well  _ before the decomposition stages that would cause Black to have to deep-clean his whole house like that time with the rat he didn’t spot on his doorstep until it was too late.

He always did wonder why the Black Leader insisted on giving him his paycheck like that, but he’d done worse things for money than wade through a rodent’s corpse.

..Corpse.

Maybe he should this time.. As useless as it was burying the body of someone practically immortal, Black couldn’t help but feel that just leaving White to rot until he popped back up somehow…

Lost him some parts of his dignity..

…

He decided he would, this time at least.

One grave would be enough. He’d be happy with one.

Black turned on his heels, only halfway up the hidden staircase. The spy’s body still sat there, but he wasn’t sure how long it would stay. He had to move quick if this wasn’t going to be a pointless exercise.

The clothes pile was discarded in the corner of a step. White’s restraints were unlocked and his body was once more pulled up into Black’s scrawny little arms. Thankfully, it was lighter than the unconscious lump of a person he’d brought home earlier. He  _ would _ , however, now need to clean his shirt too. Or even throw it out and go through the hassle of finding another that fit his long, thin frame. Thick, oily ‘blood’ had already stained the front of the fabric, and there was no way Black was spending another laundry day scrubbing his own boyfriend’s blood out of his clothes.

Carrying him outside, Black wasted no time on propping White against his shed, fishing out a heavy duty shovel he’d used in many old traps of… Varying success, and picking a spot to start digging.

He instinctively glanced over his garden’s surrounding fences for any onlookers, just before the shovel blade hit dirt. Black honestly felt lucky he didn’t have neighbours sometimes. Aside from the one house beside his own, of course, that happened to belong to the dead man in his garden anyway.

It was both the downfall and the virtue of their home addresses being given by their respective Embassies; no need to hide suspicious activity, except from each other, and a much easier time sneaking to visit the other. However, the lack of neighbors was often..

Lonely..


	8. Neighbors, a thing of the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black relives his childhood as he's burying his immortal, secret boyfriend. Somehow, it's happy.

Dry winter soil pushed and protested against the shovel blade as Black lost himself in thought. Decapitating a few unlucky worms as he dug. It hadn’t been for too long yet, but already the spy was lost in thought and repetitive motion, reminiscing about his old home before being drafted.

His  _ family  _ home. The last place he’d been able to enjoy seeing a ball get kicked into the backyard and not immediately worry it was some kind of disguised bomb. A lovely place with a huge garden, exotic flowers, a tiny little spotted dog who always came when you called it, and a large community with more than enough children his own age for Black to keep himself busy. His parents had always been well off thanks to his father’s nondescript government job. Gathering intel, or passing it along, he was never quite sure. That is, if he believed what his older siblings had told him in the first place.

He knew White then, too. They were rivals even before they could walk. Or as close to rivals as arguing little kids could be.

Black recalled a party he’d once held at that time. His eleventh birthday.

A trip to a warehouse with a giant toy car track, where he and his friends at the time would race for the chance to win a meaningless plastic trophy before the day ended, and Black got to cut up his cake and purposefully give himself a bigger slice than his guests.

He remembered inviting White too. Back then, Black’s friend group had consisted of mostly girls, and with many of them turning down the thought of a more ‘boyish’ activity, Black was forced to even out the numbers with his sworn rival, thinking he could at least show off with his skills and make the other hate every second he had to spend there.

They were put on the same team by his mother, despite his protests. They won every race. They held the trophy up together at the end of the day, sharing the applause. They smiled, and sat next to each other on the bench when the snacks were brought out.

Black even cut White a bigger slice of the cake to match his own, and feigned ignorance to his other friends when they complained at just how small their own shares were.

Black laughed, coming back to his senses to push through a particularly hard part of soil. Family troubles he’d rather not think about had made it all but impossible for the man to imagine ever stepping foot in that place again, but he still missed the company of having a neighborhood.

At least White was still in his life though. Through thick and thin, but mostly thick, the paler other had somehow, almost stubbornly stuck by Black’s side. He really had always been the closest thing Black had to a best friend, even after they’d found themselves at each other’s throats working for opposing embassies.

Never would have crossed his mind he’d be digging the other a grave in his backyard, under the light of a half-moon and the lamp he’d forgotten to turn off in his bedroom window.

And yet, here he was.


	9. Black and white world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The digging, and the nostalgia, is finished. Black replaces it with wonders of his little greyscale reality

The hole was more than deep enough by now.

Honestly, Black wasn’t set on anything professional. Just something to make the situation seem more honoured than leaving White to blip away and respawn, and he’d be happy with himself. He’d have called his actions selfish, were it not for the fact that the raised mound soon to make it’s home in his garden would just make mowing the lawn a living nightmare if the grass ever came back from the dead.

He almost laughed as he walked back to retrieve White. That  _ he _ could bounce back from explosions, decapitation, and a whole  _ host _ of painful deaths, but one wrong move with that bug spray and his garden had been replaced by dark grass and frozen soil.

Black was sure his lawn would be completely brown by now if their little world had colour.

And then he wondered what colour his flowers would be. He wondered what colour he’d paint his shed. He needed to paint it soon too. The year old previous coating had cracked in several places by now, and he could see pieces flecking off as he bent down.

Looking over White’s blank face as he held the guy in his arms once more, Black also wondered if  _ he _ would ever have shown colour.

He wondered what colour White’s eyes would be, what he’d look like in the light of a morning sun, or the shade of a blue moon. He wondered what a pink blush would look like across that ice cold face of his.

And wondering still, Black pressed another kiss between the man’s eyes before closing them with a free hand, and lowering him down into the freshly dug hole- he’d really had to kerb his impulses to stop himself from tossing the guy in like an aspiring basketball star. Taking one last look at the body before shoveling that dug soil right back on top.

He thought, whatever colour they hypothetically were, White’s eyes would be beautiful no matter what.


	10. Revival, revisit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White comes back, and immediately steps right back into the building he died in. It's a good idea, somehow

The ground shifted after around a minute of digging. Soil became dislodged, and fell further into the hole than it had previously been. Black took this as the indication that White’s body had finally vanished, but he kept working. Kept digging until he’d re-filled the hole, patted it down with his shovel’s flatter surface, and even took a selection of some of his more stubborn flowers that had survived the harsh winter to plant at the very top. 

A grave for a man still living, complete with flowers that refused to die. Black would have appreciated the humour if he had the energy.

He also didn’t have the energy to immediately worry as he felt a vibration in his pocket. Fishing out a cracked, yet sturdy phone from his pants, and checking the message he’d received. The message, which could have been a threat from his Leader should his little info retrieval mission have gone south. The message, which could have been a notification of another spy, from the White Embassy, maybe even from Grey, that they’d seen everything. The message, which could have been yet another passive-aggressive text from his mother to drop in like a ‘good child’ would.

The message, which was nothing more than a simple, lower cased ‘thanks’ in neatly formatted, white writing from an unknown number.

At least, a number not saved to his phone. That string of digits was more than familiar to Black.

Something told him to look up.

He did.

And met the tired yet smiling face of the man he’d just buried, gazing down at him through the neighbouring window. Newly dug grave clearly in full view from such an angle.

Black smiled. White smiled back.

His eyes were heavy, but had finally regained that glint of life and mischief Black loved more than anything to see. He laughed despite himself.

And White laughed back.

All it took after that was a wordless gesture of Black’s head, and a nodded response, before White was once more in Black’s domicile. Coming in consciously through the easier opened front door this time, tripping over his own feet and falling into outstretched arms, and willingly being carried  _ upstairs _ instead of down. It was like a totally reversed situation, hours later in the day, but that wasn’t to say Black didn’t like this a whole lot better than last time.

He’d ended up tucking White into bed almost the moment they were upstairs. Setting the sleepy little form down as gentle as possible on that warm mattress and dark grey blanket. The other was clearly too out of it to get  _ himself  _ comfortable- Black had learned from experience that death by blood loss always leaves you groggy and tired when you show up again, especially at this time of the night.

3:21.

Not exactly night anymore. Still far too early to class as day.

Either way, Black was aware that White was far too lacking in energy to sort  _ himself _ , aside from the thrown on pajamas he’d arrived in. So, he’d taken to getting the spy nice and comfy on the left side of his bed, the side with the dodgy spring, and making sure he’d sleep well despite the late bedtime. 

And with a few well-placed kisses and soft-spoken words of affection, it wasn’t long before White’s eyes finally closed again, and his tired body snuggled up to Black’s, seeking out his body heat and getting comfortable. 


	11. Don't forget the date tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time was 3:30

Black allowed himself to smile. He'd been doing that a lot today.

He took in every detail of White’s sleeping little face, loving how much sweeter it looked than when he’d been forced unconscious, and how much brighter than when he’d met his end for the 8th time that month. Loving the look of that tiny grin pulling up after he kissed him again. Loving just how peaceful White seemed like this…

And before long, the darker clothed spy felt himself tire as well, running his fingers through White’s fluffy hair as he let out a squeak of a yawn.

The outside world became dark, distant, and blurry, but he focused on nothing other than the comfy little figure against his front.

Energy fleeted, his weight sunk into the mattress. Tired, bagged eyes slid shut, and Black smiled peacefully to himself as his mind slowly slipped. Slipped into hazy thoughts that didn’t quite make sense to anyone in the waking world. 

The time was 3:30.

He had six hours to sleep if he wanted to be on time for their 10:30 date. Five if he wanted to wake up before White, and avoid the other’s occasional wake-up call of a bullet through the stomach.

But, in a possibly stupid show of trust, Black decided he’d take the extra hour. And in the last fleeting moments of consciousness, he blindly shuffled forwards, and pulled White closer into his arms.

10:30. He wouldn’t miss it for the world…

Black finally curled up below his blankets

And dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAND BOOM! THERE WE GO! FIRST TIME PUTTING A FIC IN CHAPTERS ON THIS SITE SO I HOPE EVERYTHING'S DONE RIGHT,,, BUT I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THE READ!

**Author's Note:**

> SECOND FIC I'VE POSTED TO THIS PLACE- HOPEFULLY I'M GETTING THE HANG OF FORMATTING THIS!  
> SO MY S/O REVEALED THESE ADORABLE LIL FERAL CARTOON CHARACTERS TO ME A WHILE BACK AND THEN I SPENT THE GOOD PART OF A WEEK WRITING A FIC. WHICH YOU'RE CURRENTLY READING!


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